The machinery’s red -hot grind

Is slowly revving to a stop,

Consumed by the grime

Of too many summers lost

–

The glow

Of her senseless labor dims,

Entangled by the webs

Winding over her frame

–

The swarms of her crew

Fill the veins of the city,

Her bones left to rust  

In their livelihood’s tomb

–

Now songbirds

Warble in the wake of her rest

Giving life to her limbs,

Building nests in the wires